around the origami star within. “Monty’s stubborn. That’s not a surprise.”
“True enough,” he said. “But your grandfather’s silence endangers us all. We believe the Free Walkers have developed a weapon, and he knows about it.”
“Monty never mentioned anything about a weapon,” I said truthfully.
“He might have called it something else,” my dad said. “You know how he was, always talking in puzzles. It might not be a thing at all, but a plan, or a technique. Whatever it is, kiddo, we need to figure it out.”
“Uncovering the Free Walkers’ weapon could shift the course of the multiverse,” Bolton said. “As you said, your grandfather’s quite stubborn. He’s refusing to speak with anyone except you.”
“Me?” My shock was genuine.
Crane replied, “He’ll give us the information we seek, so long as you’re the one interviewing him. Otherwise . . . silence.”
“Why me?” I looked at each of them in turn, and finally my mother leaned forward, sliding her hands across the table as if reaching for me.
“Because he loves you, Del,” she said, soft and cajoling. “He knows what he did was wrong. He knows you must feel so, so betrayed, and he wants to make amends.”
In a million worlds, I could never forgive Monty. “I’m supposed to care what he wants?”
Lattimer spread his arms wide, palms up. “You agreed to help us.”
“Monty doesn’t know anything. He’s bluffing.”
“We don’t believe that’s the case.” He paused. “Would you turn your back on us, and the Key World, for the sake of a grudge you bear a harmless old man?”
“With all due respect, Councilman,” my father said, “harmless old men don’t serve life sentences.”
“There’s no place more secure than an oubliette. Even Montrose realizes there would be no point in trying to escape, and Delancey will be well looked after.”
“Why can’t Addie do it?” I asked. I’d edged away until my hip bumped the wall, but it was useless. I was as trapped as Monty.
“Your grandfather is insistent on this matter: He’ll speak only to you. He believes you’re the one he’s most wronged.”
I snorted. Monty was after something, and it wasn’t redemption. He’d taught me too well, and I knew, as surely as I knew the sound of the Key World or the feel of Simon’s hand in mine, this was one of his schemes.
“Tell him to find some other way to ease his conscience.”
Lattimer flicked a piece of imaginary lint from his suit, as if brushing away my answer. “A Walker’s duty is to protect the Key World, Delancey. It is our calling, and now you are being called. Unless you’ve decided you no longer want to be a Walker.”
My mom stiffened at the implication, my father frowning alongside her.
“Of course I do!” I twisted the hem of my sweater. Dealing with Lattimer was like playing an especially challenging violin piece, and I was out of practice—stumbling over passages I should have sailed through, missing the delicate shadings that gave a phrase its meaning, so focused on the playing that I forgot to perform.
I needed to hit the right note. Refusing to help would invite dangerous attention; caving too easily would make him equally suspicious.
Propping my hands on my hips, I asked, “What if I go in there and listen to his spiel, and he doesn’t tell us anything?” Us. As if the Consort and I were on the same team.
“He’s aware of the consequences if he reneges.”
“What if he lies? He does that, you know. A lot. It’s kind of his specialty.”
“Let us worry about the accuracy of his information. Your only concern will be to keep him talking.”
As long as he wasn’t talking about me and Simon. If I wanted to control the information Monty was passing along to the Consort, I’d have to get involved.
I bit my lip, glanced over at my parents. My father stood. “Could we have a few moments alone with Del?”
“Of course,” Crane said, before Lattimer could object. “We’ll wait outside.”
“Thank you. We won’t be long.”
“See that you aren’t,” Lattimer said, keying in the code to open the door. “Time is of the essence, Foster, as you’re aware.”
My mom scrambled to her feet as Crane and Bolton rose. We waited in silence as they filed out. I listened for the sound of the lock engaging, but it never came. Our privacy was a gift bestowed; it could be taken away at a whim.
“I’m not convinced this is a good idea,” my father said. “Are you sure, Winnie?”